The freckled soldier standing there looks like hewassmiling kindly,but his expression is settling into a frown. He lets go of the arrow and puts a hand up, his blue eyes wary. “Jax?”
Oh.My hand unclenches a little. “Sephran.”
We’re getting some curious glances—and some that aren’t so curious. A few of the soldiers look ready for trouble, and I remember that everyone has been primed for a fight all day. Through the haze of the forge, I can see we’ve attracted Master Garson’s attention as well, and my heart gives a little jolt.
Sephran evaluates my expression, then looks around at the others. When he speaks, his voice is easy, and he gives a self-deprecating laugh. Whatever he says disperses most of the tension. The other blacksmiths return to work, and the other guards and soldiers return to looking hot and irate.
Sephran’s gaze goes to the arrow that’s still clutched in my fist. He hesitates, then reaches out to take it. Sheepishly, I let go.
He taps me in the shoulder with the arrow, just like he did when he arrived. “Hello, Archer,” he says slowly.
That’s what he said the first time. I was just too worked up to realize it.
I flush and look away. “Sorry,” I manage.
He inhales as if to speak, then says, “More Emberish yet?”
“A little.” I grimace and point at myself. “Slow.”
He smiles. “We need Malin.”
“He is with Tycho,” I say, and there’s a little tug in my heart when I say his name.
Sephran nods. “I know.”
Of course he does. I wonder if he’s heard anything about their journey, but like so many other things, I have no way to ask. This is already the longest conversation I’ve had in days—and what’s truly pathetic is that there’s a part of me that wants to beg him to stand here for an hour just because he was friendly for one minute.
But that’s ridiculous. Like everyone else, he’s just here with a horse that needs tending. I look down at his gelding’s hooves. At least these are words I have.
“Lame?” I say, though I can already tell the nail holes look worn. “Or new shoes?”
“New shoes,” he says.
I nod and reach for my tools. Sweat trickles into my eyes, and I try to ignore the persistent ache in my side. I would give anything for a stool, even one, to give me some leverage when I need to keep my balance.
I finish with one hoof, then set it down. I glance up, but Sephran is gone, and I’m alone with his horse.
I frown. None of the soldiers have ever left me alone with their horse, and a sour pinch of worry pulls at my thoughts. Maybe he’s mad that I snapped. Maybe he’s complaining to Garson.
Whatever.I have a job to do. I pick up the next hoof, and Sephran still doesn’t return. That sour pinch of worry turns into a tug that won’t leave me alone.
When I’m finishing with the third hoof, something lands in the dirt beside me with athunk, and I jump, inhaling sharply. But it’s just a bench, maybe four feet long, less than two feet high.
Sephran is a little breathless, his freckled cheeks red. “Do you need this?”
I stare at him, shocked. I don’t know what to say.
He misunderstands my silence, because he points at the bench, then me. “You,” he says more slowly. “Need? Want?”
I shake myself. “Yes. Please. Yes. I need.” I don’t know if I want to cry or if I want to hug him, but both options would be equally humiliating—and I feel the urge to do them all the same. I don’t even know how heknew. “Thank you.” I pause. “How?”
“From the stables,” he says, which I understand, and he adds, “By the horses?”
That means he carried it a good distance. But it’s not what I meant. I shake my head. “How . . . ?how to know?”
“How did I know?”
“Yes.”
